Sloane could see the stranger’s face now, peeking over Gery’s shoulder. He was good-looking, almost pretty, with bold features and stunning blue eyes. But there was something nasty under the beauty, something slimy and cold, like the underbelly of a snake, as he stared at Gery.
“Off with ye,” Gery ordered, but the bite in his confident tone had gone brittle. It changed to a panicked shout as the man lunged at the doorway, his face twisted and feral.
Gery stumbled back over the stoop and into Sloane, slamming the door as he fell. Their asses hit the tile in painful tandem. Behind them, there came a shout from the bathroom. The sound of the shower cutting off when neither of them answered.
They couldn’t, they were too busy staring at the door, both holding their breath. Jenny emerged from the bathroom with a curse and only a towel held against her dripping chest, suds still foaming white on her dark hair.
“What in the holy fuck of all fucks is going on out—?”
Her voice trailed off as she saw them together on the floor, her mouth falling open. Sloane could see Jenny perfectly out of the corner of her eye, but she couldn’t take her gaze from that damn door. Gery’s body, with all its young, wiry strength, shook next to hers.
“What the feck?” he whispered.
She was fully expecting something monstrous to crash through that whitewashed door at any second, splintering it to pieces, but the silence was eerily complete. Minutes ticked by. Gery pulled away from her but only to lie back on the floor, breathing hard and closing his eyes.
“Guys?” Jenny whispered. Gery waved a hand, eyes still closed.
“Give us a minute, love.”
Sloane flinched. Jenny went to the window and Gery shot to his feet instantly, shouting at her to get back, but Jenny had already turned away. Her face took on a pale, pinched look before she ran into her boyfriend’s arms.
“What did you see?” Sloane asked her later, after the constable Gery had called had left. The man had been thorough and kind, even though he’d seemed thoroughly puzzled as to why they were all so shaken about some ‘ crazy loiterer.’
“Just a man,” Jenny said, but her tone was empty and hollow, as if she didn’t quite believe her own words. Her hands were wrapped around a mug of the tea Gery had made for all of them before announcing he was going outside for a smoke. But both women knew he was trying to prove to himself he wasn’t too scared to open the door. “A man walking away very fast.”
“Then why did you go so white?” Sloane was trying to wrap her head around her own reaction to the man she told herself hadn’t done much more than utter a few threatening words, and called her by a name she couldn’t quite remember, no matter how many times the frustrated constable had asked.
Sloane refused to think about the teeth.
“Because he looked over his shoulder once and . . .” Jenny stared into the steam coming off her mug, her lips trembling. “There was something not right about his eyes, Slo. Not right at all.”
8
Two days later, Sloane was trying to put the unsettling incident behind her. Despite the odd name the attacker had called her, she was chalking the whole thing up to some maniacal fan who had been scared off by Gery. The constable agreed. He’d put the word out in town to keep an eye on any strangers fitting the white-haired man’s description and advised that Jenny and Sloane to keep their door locked at all times and stick together at night.
He’d also suggested inquired as to the security Sloane planned on installing in her new residence and asked her how long she expected it would be until she moved out to the house at Bride.
Good question.
In real estate terms, Sloane supposed she’d bought the old Watterson place ‘sight unseen,’ but she had seen it, of course. Just not for half a dozen years or so. She’d been sent recent pictures, though, and a printout of the inspection. It had become a bit dilapidated over the years, but it still had its charms.
Like many things on the island, the farmhouse had a special place in her heart. It would be her first real home. The mansion she had bought in L.A. had always been more Josh’s than hers, and despite many happy memories, her parent’s posh residence had never felt like a ‘home.’ The Watterson place was different. It had history and warmth and it was all hers.
A few minor repairs were being done just so she could move in, and she had plans for many more renovations after that.
Unfortunately, she hadn’t heard anything from Bob Riley, her realtor, since she’d hit the island, despite the many messages she’d left. Of course, Bob didn’t believe in cell phones. He used only a landline with an old-fashioned answering machine that he checked maybe twice a week. She trusted Bob to do his job, despite his eccentricities but she did want to know things were coming along.
Since Jenny and Gery were taking his uncle’s boat out for the day, Sloane had been granted the keys to Jenny’s newly repaired car. She didn’t trust the hunk of junk very far, but surely it could get her safely to Bride and back.
Shifting the little manual into third and then fourth, Sloane leaned back, loving the feel of the sea wind through the window. It smelled like sunshine, and why shouldn’t it?
It was another fine day, bright and very blue, all wide-open sky and shimmering ocean. Looking out at the sea, the last dregs of fear from the attack blew away at last.
The directions she’d printed out in case her memory had turned faulty weren’t at all necessary. She remembered every turn. It wasn’t as if there were many houses out this way.
Especially adorable, old-fashioned farmhouses with crooked chimneys that shouted ‘the Burrow’ to anyone from the Harry Potter generation. With a grin, Sloane pulled into the gravel driveway. She could easily imagine the Weasleys playing Quidditch over the field next door, though she did hope her garden would be gnome-free. She stopped the car, looking around with vested interest as she got out and slammed the door.
Evidence of ongoing construction littered the curving green hilltop in front of the house. Two-by-fours were stacked neatly next to the flagstone walk, a sink wrapped in plastic sheeting alongside a towering pile of brand-new brick. While that cockeyed chimney had a certain charm, she didn’t want it to collapse the first time she lit a fire. All looked in order. Maybe Bob had been too busy setting everything up to return her calls.
She shaded her eyes, leaning back to take in her new home. It was big and no doubt drafty, the peeling white walls crying out for a paint job, but she loved it already.
Sloane was practically skipping up the steps when she caught sight of someone coming around the side of the house, where the hill cut sharply away from the foundation. It was Mac. He wasn’t dressed up this time. Point of fact, his shirt was off, tucked carelessly into the waistband of a pair of worn, paint-streaked jeans. He smiled when he saw her, but Sloane didn’t return the gesture. His shirt was off.
“What are you doing here?” she snapped, though maybe it was less like snapping and more like gasping.
His shirt was off.
She couldn’t remember ever seeing Mac shirtless and suddenly felt a surge of pity for her younger self. His ripples had ripples, gleaming bronze ones that made her skin feel tight and hot. This was a man’s body, not in the least like Josh’s, who been well built but slender and nearly without body hair.
Mac’s chest was heavy with muscle, deep and wide with a thick dusting of reddish hair. His nipples were flat and dark against his tanned, freckled skin. Skin that was shining with sweat that dripped down a chiseled stomach and darkened the waistband of those faded jeans. Her nails dug into her palms as she resisted the overwhelming urge to move closer to touch and smell and maybe lick just a little.
With one long-legged stride, Mac took the choice from her, closing the distance between them. She bit back a whimper, fighting an instant and crushing wave of desire.
The heat rolling off of his half-naked body was in stark contrast to the cool breeze coming off the sea. Her nostrils flared, picking up the scent
of fresh, clean sweat and hard work. It tugged at something inside her, made Sloane fantasize about making him sweat under different circumstances. Circumstances that involved that powerful body covering hers and moving in ways far more primal. Her nipples went tight and her breath came short.
Sloane backed away, tripping and barely catching herself before coming up hard against the side of one of the old additions that stuck out from the main structure of the house.
“Mind that,” Mac said sharply, grabbing her wrist.
“W-what?” She glanced around in alarm, barely conscious of where she was.
“There’s a weak spot all along here.” He pointed at the section of crumbling mortar. “Whoever put up this cellar did a shite job. Whole thing needs torn out and redone. One good push right now and that whole room will come down around yer pretty little ears.”
She pulled out of his hold, focusing on the crumbling stone instead of Mac, knowing the sight of him would sap her reason all over again. The cellar was one of the first things she planned to demolish. She was planning on putting a deck out here, where she could sit and watch the ocean.
Mac moved into her line of sight again. She swallowed, his abs drawing her gaze like a magnet. The water would be a damn sight more relaxing than the current view. It really shouldn’t be legal for men built like Mac to go shirtless in public.
A public nuisance, that’s what he was. A drop of sweat slid from one carved ridge of muscle to a lower one.
“Sloane.” His voice was gentle, but she swore it held a touch of laughter. She yanked her eyes upward. Yes, his eyes were definitely twinkling, just like the sea behind his ridiculously broad, chiseled shoulder. “Ye were saying,” he prompted politely, as if they both weren’t aware she was eye-fucking him shamelessly.
He took the shirt from his pocket and swiped at his chest as he waited for her reply. It was a seemingly casual move, but Sloane took it for a taunt.
How long had it been since she’d had sex? Six months at least. Since she’d had real, satisfying sex?
Two year, maybe three.
Since she’d had the kind of sex she suspected Mac was capable of providing?
Never.
She bit her lip and resisted the urge to press her thighs together to ease the ache between her legs. Her easy, careful mood had vanished, and it was all his fault. She couldn’t even remember what she’d been saying before that fucking drop of sweat had derailed her brain.
Oh yes. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Deciding what’s to be done to fix yer roof.”
“To fix my . . .”
Goddamn it. Of course, she was being stupid.
Mac was a contractor. He owned several rental properties, including the one her parents had booked every summer from the time Sloane was seven to seventeen. He was also the only person besides Jenny to understand exactly why she’d bought this particular property. The only one that would remember the colt.
Then his words hit her. “My roof leaks?”
“Like a sieve,” he confirmed cheerfully. “But don’t worry, I know a few lads who will have it right for you in no time. I expect ye’ll have to stay with Jenny another week or two, though.”
“Why you?” She knew she sounded petulant but she didn’t care. He didn’t pretend not to know what she was asking.
“Bob’s mother got sick and he had to go to London. Asked if I’d take over here,” he said with a small smile. “Of course, I agreed to help.”
“You’re not the only contractor on Manx.”
“No,” he agreed. “But I am the best.”
There was that ego again.
“Dammit, Mac, can’t you just leave me alone? I’ve only been here a week and I’ve already seen way more of you than I ever wanted to.” She said pointedly.
Mac snorted, but he yanked his shirt on, both his actions and his tone somewhere between impatient and amused. “Ye canna have expected to move here and never see me.”
“I expected to see you,” she snapped. “I just didn’t expect you to see me.” She whirled away at the sudden flash of understanding in his eyes. She was beyond done with him and ready to go back to town, the pleasure in seeing her little house long gone.
Before she could reach the car, though, Mac came up behind her. One arm stretched over her head to keep her from opening the door. Again.
Her fingers fell away from the handle as she rested her forehead against the warm metal of the dented roof, her eyes closing.
“Sloane?” His breath tickled the back of her neck, making her shut her eyes tighter. “Look at me now.”
Silence descended as he waited for her to turn.
And waited.
Finally, with a curse, she did. His expression made her swallow. Five years ago she’d have walked through fire to see him look at her like that. But, like he said, five years ago was a long time.
“I can’t handle this right now,” she muttered, leaning back against the dusty metal. “Just let me go, Mac. Please.”
He looked down at her, eyes blazing at the clear double meaning in her words. “I did tha’ once, and I’ll no’ be doin’ it again.”
Before she could blink, she was pressed up against the car. Sloane could feel the heat of him through the thin material of her blouse, blistering and rough against her already aching nipples. She whimpered at the contact and Mac’s eyes flashed. In the next second, his mouth crashed down on hers.
Hard and fast, like a tidal wave. Need swept over her, taking her determination with it. Had he tasted this good last time? She couldn’t remember, but she knew she’d never forget again.
Mac kissed her until she was gasping, her legs weak with want of him. Then he lifted her off her feet and kissed her some more. Their past, her future and the fucked-up present faded away, her awareness reduced to the feel of his lips on hers.
She didn’t want him to stop. She never wanted him to stop.
Finally, a small part of her brain that had been buzzing a warning since she’d first seen Mac coming around that corner took hold. Her hands pushed against his chest, weak at first, then harder. Sloane yanked her head back. “Stop. Mac. Just stop.”
With a curse he did, but the look on his face was full of a predatory satisfaction that pissed her off immediately.
“You think that meant anything?” she spat at him, wiping the back of her hand over her mouth. His eyes darkened.
“I know it did. Ye still want me.”
Sloane took in a deep, shaky breath, considering his words. She did want him. Physically, it was pretty damn clear she’d never wanted anyone more. But she’d already decided that tangling with Mac was not what she needed right now. Last time he’d almost crushed her. She couldn’t risk that again, especially now, when she needed so desperately to find her own way.
“You know what, Mac? You’re right. You want to fuck, then sure, we can fuck.” His brow furrowed, but she wasn’t done, poking a finger hard into his chest, she enunciated ever word. “But don’t give me flowers. Don’t ask me on dates. Don’t tell me I’m yours. I won’t let you into my heart again.”
He shook his head, though the arrogant gleam in his eyes had dimmed considerably. “Ye’ll change yer mind.”
“No, I won’t.” She gave him a weary look. “My heart can’t take it.”
His eyes widened, and for the first time, Mac looked shaken.
Spinning around, Sloane wrenched open the door of Jenny’s car, then slammed it hard. She gave into the childish, but deeply satisfying urge to peel out, watching Mac’s imposing form disappear in the rearview behind a cloud of dust.
Stupid. Stupid and arrogant.
Not to mention foolish.
Mac watched the dust trail dissipate into the air long after the little red car faded from sight. How he hated fools. And here he was, acting like the part to perfection. He’d realized something very clearly when Sloane’s finger had been digging into his chest—he’d been making nothing but mistakes since she had c
ome back.
He’d been lazy and crude. Maybe even a little scared. Mac snorted, shaking his sweat-damp hair and lifting his face to the sun. Make that a lot scared.
Lugh’s light beat down relentlessly, reminding him all too clearly what was at stake here. He didn’t want Sloane for a night, he wanted her forever.
It was time he started acting like it.
9
She didn’t see him for a week.
Not a peep, not a word. It was as if Mac had vanished. Oh, she knew he hadn’t. The work on her house was completed in record time, and Gery, who did construction when he felt like it, had told her Mac had been there for most of it, supervising the pounding of every last nail. Sloane hadn’t gone out to look herself, but apparently she wouldn’t have to wait much longer.
Monday was officially moving day. She’d actually jumped up and down when Bob had called this morning, apologizing for his absence and the delay but assuring her the keys would be dropped off tonight at The Fiddler’s Head.
Of course, he’d failed to mention it was going to be Mac dropping them off.
When she walked into the pub and saw him sitting at the table where she’d expected to see Bob, Sloane cursed. She’d known his restraint was too good to be true.
Though if she was being honest, hadn’t she also missed him? She may have been angry and confused about his heavy-handed pursuit, but hadn’t she also been flattered, her poor battered ego soothed just a bit?
Goddam him.
He broke eye contact first by getting up and walking to the bar. His broad back stiff and straight, Mac didn’t look at her until Keith completed the pours. Then he walked straight over to the table and sat down clearly waiting for her, setting two mugs in front of him. She huffed out a breath before walking over and sitting down, but for a moment neither of them said a word. Just when she’d opened her mouth to demand her keys, his hand reached out and covered hers, pinning her to the scarred and polished wood.
Lightning In Sea (CELTIC ELEMENTALS Book 3) Page 6
